Category Archives: cosmic

Out With The Old, In With The New…Program

grey on grey

One shade of grey.

January’s column historically presents (hilarious!) fake predictions for the new year, contributed by the wingnuts I call friends. Not this year, due to lack of participation (read: interest) last year. Well!

We will, however, do our annual Suggested Reading column. Please submit nominees with 10 words on why; books don’t have to be prizeworthy, just something-worthy.  These may appear in the Sooperbowl issue under “Other Interests.” This year the Sooperbowl falls on Groundhog’s Day. If the groundhog emerges and sees the shadow of a wardrobe malfunction, it’s, er, halftime?

When I’m not busy being chased by snow devils, finding grocery items marked reduced to clear, or serving as a cautionary tale, I’m gathering information on the meaninglessfulness of life to share with you, dear Reader. Let’s proceed in an orderly fashion. Reduced chaos is part of the UVG 2014 New Program for All.

Snow Devils: Did you know that when you see a snow devil, you can make a wish? Same goes for sightings of blimps, salamanders, exploding light bulbs, and DHART. My lunatics invented these rules, and of course with DHART the wish is for the occupant of that medical emergency helicopter. You can make up rules, too—we need all the luck we can get. I saw a snow devil while snowshoeing and didn’t even make the wish until days later while sledding in my car on glare ice; my wish was to survive. Wish granted. See? It works! The next wish will be that it doesn’t go tens below zero again. Your car’s otherworldly sound upon starting and the radio dial’s groaning reluctance make a girl…nervous. Brutal cold does not grease the wheels of the 2014 New Program (lit. or fig.).

Reduced To Clear:  Store items discounted with these three precious words should include not only expired vitamins, discontinued products, and foodstuffs past their prime, but also those with asinine labeling like Snack Pack’s “As much CALCIUM as an 8 0z. glass of MILK” (emphasis theirs). Adults who can read don’t consider Snack Pack® a source of anything more than tasty goo; if we want to ingest or give kids calcium we’ll grab a stick of Cabot, for God’s sake. And three words for purveyors promising a Vitamin D Blowout!!! (exclamation points theirs):  count me in. With overcast wintry skies fostering deep mid-winter psychoses, northerners need all the D we can guzzle. Vigilance is part of the New Program. Vigilance!

On Serving as a Cautionary Tale:  This would be me discussing football (“So the linebacker, he receives the ball?”), slashing my enfant terrible way through moronic Facebook posts or comments, and in some of my, uh, “career” “choices.” It’s a prickly job, the archetypal role of cautionary tale, but someone’s got to do it. Besides, being the object of scorn and ridicule has its advantages. One, expectations of you are exceedingly low; if you say or do anything remotely smart, people get excited—even laudatory. Also, as a believer in the beautiful soup of our combined creatural energy, I feel we either add to or detract from this stew via our moods and actions. Your minusculest chuckle, dear Reader, elevates our collective vibration! Feeling good and making others do so is important. But as much as I strive to make people feel good or even hoot, I can only intentionally elicit so much.  If they are laughing at me behind me back, discharging a solid guttural blast at my expense, well that’s a freebie. The collective soup wins. Earth needs all the laffs she can get. Laugh at my expense, babies. Laugh it up.

The Meaninglessfulness of Life:  By this I mean that as meaningless as our lives often seem, they are full in that we have impact that half the time we don’t even know about (nod to It’s A Wonderful Life, which we forget promptly upon viewing). I’ll leave this one to Christopher Hitchens, the deceased, British-born, non-partisan equal opportunity offender, writer, philosopher, intellect, lush, and fearlessly funny professional soap boxer:

“A life that partakes even a little of friendship, love, irony, humor, parenthood, literature, and music, and the chance to take part in battles for the liberation of others cannot be called ‘meaningless’ except if the person living it is also an existentialist and elects to call it so. It could be that all existence is a pointless joke, but it is not in fact possible to live one’s everyday life as if this were so.”  – Hitch-22: A Memoir

snow on ice

Snow on ice on water on…more ice?

Cosmic joke or no, grab all you can get, people. Get all you can need. Give it back tenfold via your laffs without even trying. Make up luck rules that square with your own New Program for 2014. See what happens. And by all means, report in. Good day.

Ann can be reached at uppervalleygirl@gmail.com or ann.aikens.7 on Facebook. Follow her on Twitter at @uvgvt or on the nuclear green thing on the upper right at www.uppervalleygirl.wordpress.com.

Have You Read a Ford Lately?

nothing is realBehold the craftsmanship that went, letter by letter, into the spreading of this important message. Truer words were never, um, self-adhesived onto a bumper.

While each Ford has its own mystique, it’s not every Ford that serves as a reminder to dig out your cheery Floyd and Death Rattle CDs for family gatherings during this, the season of thanks. Oh and by the way, Peace to you, fellow motorists!

Open wide and say Ahhhhhhhhhhh

Photo by Thomas O'Brien

Photo by Thomas O’Brien

Got yer meteor shower info right here.  Park your lawn chair (paper toweling?) after 11 pm (pref. after midnight) or right before dawn.

Maybe you’ll see a fireball.  As luck would have it, the Perseid meteor shower is the “Fireball Champion.” Jupiter, Venus, and the Moon will show up together just as the meteor shower reaches its peak. A dim Mars and bright Jupiter will be visible right before the sun rises, above the eastern horizon.

Best viewing spot? Rural America, of course!

RIGHT IN YOR WHEELHOUSE

wheelhouse pngWith steaming temps and standing pools of fetid water and everything dripping always, the New Bayou that is Vermont has done a number on our hair. Forced to pull mine back in a frizzy bun, I look like “Mother” in Pyscho.  Not sure what the Tunbridge World’s Fair theme is for 2013, but it could be The Year of the Insect…featuring slugs, skeeters, silverfish, giant ants, leggy fliers, and those mini-snails that destroy irises.  Spiders are building webs double-time. Even the moths seem diabolical—lurking doorside, waiting for a shot to jet in and eat your best fabric.  It’s like some TV movie from the 70s. Slug Slime SaboteurRevenge Of The Various Classes Of Insects.  Don’t Go In The Basement.

When I’m not obsessively checking my phone for storm updates or competing in catch-and-release firefly programs, I’m lying around lifeless, thinking deep thots to share with Dear Reader.  Thus was born Aggravation Theory.

Sure, nature occasionally goes nuts. Only, weather-wise, it does it all the time now.  I don’t believe nature is retaliating for petroleum use; it’s just aggravated. Aggravation Theory, a correlate of String Theory, says this: all matter is energetically connected and reactive to other matter. In this paradigm, violent weather is basically collateral damage; that is, when humans are constantly stressed—panicking about hiring freezes and elastic IRAs and tech menaces and global contagion and will we lose the house and can I work 24 hours a day to get the kids through college and and and and—we are vibrating at strung out, inharmonious rates. Through no fault of our own, really; anxiety is a logical place to go when overwhelmed by burdens and fears. In Aggravation Theory, anxiety makes for bad weather. Bad weather makes humans…even worse.

It reminds me of when in New York it was hot for so long that cockroaches crawled up to my 6th floor apartment. I asked the exterminator why, since I’d never seen one in five years. He replied, “It’s their nervous systems. They’re aggravated. Doesn’t hot weather make you aggravated, Sweetheart?” Modern tymes are hard tymes. They rattle our nervous systems.  As do strangers using the denigrating “Sweetheart” versus the loving one, but I digress. We’re aggravated, and I think our unchecked anxiety is making the whole planet aggravated (which, to be clear, is not proper use of the word; to “aggravate” means “to make worse.”  Really, we’re all irritated. Or exasperated. Or probably losing it.)

Seeing people on Facebook scaling mountains, giving their antique roadsters a spin, and laughing broadly on power yachts isn’t helping any.  I say get the heck out of there. Avert your eyes. Hide the people with the full and easy lives. I don’t know how to, but I’m gonna learn.

Meanwhile, grab onto what little you have control over. Court sanity. When my house is a mess, I wig. Quit walking around piles! Take 10 minutes a week to relocate crap. Chuck it! Also, as adults, we have control over what we eat. If eating a greazy burger and a bucket of macaroni salad makes me happy, that’s exactly what I’m having.

Also worth considering: Luck Theory, which states that people are at birth assigned different kinds of luck. I have bar stool luck. Denise has parking luck. Ochre has baby luck. Jose has first tennis serve luck plus checkout aisle luck. Other lucks reported: celebrity sighting luck, husband luck, sea shell finding luck, hand-me-down luck (clothing), lucky timing (general), dental scheduling luck, and spider avoidance luck. What’s yours? Use it.

I have bad travel weather luck, but I do have a built-in Nutter Locator I make good use of. If I’m lost and need directions, my Nutter Locator leads me to the craziest loon in town. I don’t get the best directions that way, but I do get the best experience. So try, much as you can, to live right in your wheelhouse. Good parking luck? Drive people places. Bad travel weather luck? Stay home.  It makes other things go smoothly when you are unaggravated. And, right now, the entire planet could use your good mood. I know I could.

Your monthly good news is a laundry invention: Shout Advanced, a reported action gel…formulated for set-in stains. You’ll weep when the load is done, “It’s a miracle, Betty. It’s a miracle.”

Good luck in the swamp, Sweethearts. Remain calm. Stay right in your wheelhouse. Catch fireflies. Spread action gel over your entire life. Good day.

Obey the Sign

i'd tap that shoe oddity biggerMy own weird example of asking for (and receiving) a sign is how I landed in L.A.  I had abandoned NYC after 1 too many psychotic boss & boyfriend let-downs and was living in VT. The ponies! The lakes! But I was fraternizing/knitting with people twice my age. Knowing I could relocate back to VT, a retirement/casket state, I asked the Forces one day while driving: “Forces, where should I move?”

Exactly then, the Killington radio station WEBK (The Peak) played Randy Newman’s I Love L.A.  [Who would spin that song at a New England ski resort — DJ Jungle Jane?]  I laffed. I left.  “I got it; I’m gone.”

While snowshoeing today, a cloud formation looked suspiciously like the I’d Tap That t-shirt maple tree. Clearly it means I should tap that.

Obey the sign, even if you didn’t ask for it.

But if they have Starbucks there, I’m not really interested

Image credit: NASA/Ames/JPL-Caltech

When life on Earth has gotten to be too much, it’s time to head to another planet.

Catch you on Kepler-22b. I’ll be in a booth in the back.